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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25804252">in nomine patri et fili spiritus sancti</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReiSenTa/pseuds/ReiSenTa'>ReiSenTa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>mea culpa, mea maxima culpa (through my fault, through my most grievous fault) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ben 10 Series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Priests, Ben Tennyson/Rook Blonko (eventual), Blow Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Period Typical Attitudes, Priest Kink, Rayonna/Rook, Roman Catholicism, Smoking, no beta we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:47:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,984</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25804252</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReiSenTa/pseuds/ReiSenTa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.</p><p>  <i><br/>“Is it a sin to love freely?”</i></p><p> <i>Cold settled in Ben’s gut.</i></p><p>  <i>It was a question Ben had asked himself, of Him, for many many years. He knelt for countless hours before many images, repeating prayer after prayer that Ben wondered if he spoke more Latin than he did any other tongue. Ben’s arms and back ached with remembered pain, learning to write with his left hand because his right wrist was too bruised to move, and his throat pulsed with the burn of a clerical collar too tight around his neck.</i></p><p>  <i>“Did your God not preach that to love thy neighbor as you love thyself?” Ben flinched, the words of the penitent were the very same that he asked himself. They echoed within the wood of the confessional, and Ben wondered if this was one of His tests. Were the years he suffered not enough? “Father, is it a sin to love another man?”</i><br/></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Albedo/Ben Tennyson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>mea culpa, mea maxima culpa (through my fault, through my most grievous fault) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872127</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>in nomine patri et fili spiritus sancti</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>aay i was just thirsting for some priest kink and now here we are :'D </p><p>All art are by me, in which you can find my tumblr and twitter here:<br/>https://rei-sen-ta.tumblr.com/<br/>https://twitter.com/ReiSenTa</p><p>I also have a Ben 10 18+ Only discord! You can DM me for the invite, just lemme know your age~</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Bellwood, 1925 </em>
</p><p>Sunlight flitted through the open window, the scent of rain and harvest was thick in the air. Bellwood was just waking up, most of the townsfolk were busy preparing for the coming celebration. </p><p>Ben’s room in the fratery was high enough to give him a vantage view of the church’s entrance. A small crowd slowly gathered, indistinct joyous voices muffled by the air as carrying them heavenwards. The skies promised a bright day, with minimal clouds and the sun shining above them all.</p><p>He pulled his nightgown over his head, then rolled it up before throwing it to the wicker laundry basket. Ben took his time putting his underclothes on, ensuring every button was in place.</p><p>Ben suppressed a shudder. He could feel eyes on him. All the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, heat travelling down his spine in anticipation.</p><p>Taking a calming breath, Ben headed towards his dresser, gaze low. He could see his reflection from his periphery but paid it no mind. A basin of water awaited him, and began to pray. “<em> Da, Domine, virtutem manibus meis ad abstergendam omnem maculam; ut sine pollutione mentis et corporis valeam tibi servire. </em>”</p><hr/><p>"Trust in God's grace and mercy, confess your sins sincerely and truthfully." </p><p>"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned," a lilting voice called from the other side of the confession box. There was just a hint of Ulster, and something familiar, but Ben paid it no mind. The confessional screens obscured the view of the man on the other side, and Ben found himself squinting because it looked like that the person was leached of color - light hair and light skin. "This is my first confession."</p><p>A newcomer then. Ben racked his head for the list of names in Bellwood, of families he met before leaving for the seminary to the roster of baptisms in the past month. The only one new that came into mind was Blon—Rook's son, Ben. "Know that God's grace shines upon us all."</p><p>The man on the other side shifted, and Ben remained quiet. He kept his hands over his lap, trying to resist the urge to bounce his leg and opting to just rub circles over his thigh. To his side, he could see the candle flickering, as if hiding its own restlessness as they both waited for the penitent to confess.</p><p>“Father… lying is a sin, right?”</p><p>“Yes, it is so,” Ben answered gently. It was hard to gauge what one truly felt hiding behind the confessional screen, but he could hear the weight in the sinner’s words. “Don’t be afraid. Confession will bring forth the truth and absolution.”</p><p>The penitent remained quiet for a long time, and Ben was afraid that he had left. But, he heard cloth shifting and the man spoke. “Is lying to myself also a sin?”</p><p>Ben froze.</p><p>He shifted in his seat, and smiled despite the pang of unease in his chest. “It all depends on the harm and gravity of your sin. Our Father above will understand more than anyone.”</p><p>Silence descended once more, and he could hear the other person moving and the confessional door opening. Ben wanted to call out and tell him that he had not yet completed. However, a sinner cannot be saved if they don’t wish to be saved.</p><p>“Will He?”</p><hr/><p>Ben padded towards the lone chair in his quarters, holy vestments waiting on top of the chair.</p><p>The cassock fit a little too tightly around Ben’s shoulders, the clerical collar just snug around his neck, and the ends of the robe just brushing his ankles. He put his boots on next, the leather was well-worn but polished to the point of perfection, and just fit up to his mid-calves as he tightened the laces. </p><p>First was the <em> amice </em> . Ben wrapped the cloth around his shoulders, continuing the liturgy as he dressed. <em> “Impone, Domine, capiti meo galeam salutis, ad expugnandos diabolicos incursus.” </em></p><p>A brief flash of sulfur and smoke filled his nostrils, but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a faint hint of evergreen and petrichor.</p><p>Next, he pulled on the alb, smoothing the lacy cloth over his chest. <em> “Dealba me, Domine, et munda cor meum; ut, in sanguine Agni dealbatus, gaudiis perfruar sempiternis.” </em></p><hr/><p>His new quarters smelled faintly of citrus and seawater. Sheer curtains blew against the wind, carrying with it the laughter and bustle of Bellwood. </p><p>Ben placed his suitcase of meagre belongings over the empty bed, and then plopped next to it with a sigh.</p><p>Ten years was a long time.</p><p>Bellwood was both familiar and different. Most of the buildings were worn with age, but well-maintained. Most of the children from his time had grown and left, with just a scant few remaining behind. Gwen being one of them. And the others….</p><p>Ben turned to his side and unlatched his suitcase open, feeling for the brass case lying on top of his clothing, and then flipped it open to take one of the cigarettes lying inside. He then grabbed the silver lighter hidden in one of the compartments of his suitcase, then placed the cigarette between his lips and lit it up. </p><p>“Father?” one of the nuns–Sister Myaxx–called from the other side. “Dinner will begin soon.”</p><p>“Thank you, sister.” Smoke exited his nostrils as he spoke, and then he took another deep breath. With another sigh, Ben sat up, cigarette between his lips. “I am just tidying up. I will come down shortly.”</p><p>“We are having <em> holubtsi, nalynsky </em> and <em> borscht </em>,” she continued. “Is good.”</p><p>“I would love to try,” Ben replied as he began taking out his vestments, nightclothes and everyday wear. Most of them were tailored for the clerical collar, and Ben could already feel the starch itching at his throat. “They all sound lovely.”</p><p>“They are. We will be in the refectory.” With that, Sister Myaxx made her leave, heavy footsteps receding before disappearing completely.</p><p>Ben took another drag and began hanging the vestments in the empty wardrobe, carefully arranging his underthings on the drawer by the bed, before taking out his grooming kit and ashtray and then padding towards the vanity.</p><p>He paused as he stood in front of the table.</p><p>The mirror was old, a tarnished silver under the glass. The edges were discolored, slowly creeping its way to the center, warping and twisting the image reflected on it. A golden image of Christ on the cross stood right above it, face turned heavensward imploringly.</p><p>Ben quickly placed both objects atop the table and turned away from the vanity, grabbing a linen blanket from the wardrobe then placed it over the mirror before finally leaving his room.</p><hr/><p><em> “Praecinge me, Domine, cingulo puritatis, et exstingue in lumbis meis humorem libidinis; ut maneat in me virtus continentiae et castitatis.” </em>Then he tightened it around his waist with the cincture, pulling some of the alb over the rope.</p><p>Even without looking, Ben could feel the gaze travelling lower. He repressed the urge to turn and look over to his bed. Instead, he focused on each liturgical prayer, letting the Latin roll off his tongue in a near whisper.</p><p><em> “Redde mihi, Domine, stolam immortalitatis, quam perdidi in praevaricatione primi parentis; et, quamvis indignus accedo ad tuum sacrum mysterium, merear tamen gaudium sempiternum.” </em> Ben placed the golden stole over his shoulders, the golden embroidery and tassels glinted as he pulled it inside the cincture. With one last breath, he pulled the gold-spun silk chasuble off the table, the smooth silk a stark contrast against the rough wool of his cassock underneath the liturgical vestments.</p><hr/><p>“Father Tennyson.” Ben blinked and looked to his right, heart stuttering inside his throat. “This is the liveliest mass I have the privilege of seeing.”</p><p>All the breath seemed to have escaped Ben’s chest.</p><p>Most of the children of Bellwood ten years ago were all adjusting to their new home, still unused to having their bellies full every night and not worrying about toiling along with their parents for food. There was little childhood roundness to shed, but that should have changed over the years. </p><p>He felt like he was gutted, his insides carved out and laid bare before his feet. As if the past ten years were erased in a single moment.</p><p>Ben shouldn’t have recognized Rook. The man looked so different from when he was just a teenager–fifteen when Ben was just ten, eighteen when Ben was thirteen. Rook was long-limbed and coltish when Ben last saw him, the hints of lithe muscle under his shirt, fruits of his labor from working tirelessly in his father’s farm. One of the few who had settled in Bellwood to own land.</p><p>Golden sunlight highlighted Rook’s high cheekbones, his amber eyes aglow with an inner light as he smiled at Ben. He had filled up in a way that made Ben’s heart ache with how devastatingly handsome he looked. Blonko’s clothes were worn from age, passed down from his father. It barely fit the older man, the sleeves tight around his biceps and torso, and all Ben wished in that moment was to touch them just to see if they were real.</p><p>Out of nowhere, something scuttled by Ben’s feet (a glance down and Ben saw a white cat dashing away) and it was enough to return him back to the present.</p><p>“Rook,” Ben breathed out, swallowing the tight lump in his throat, chest aching. “It’s been a long time.”</p><p>Rook smiled, and it was as blinding as the sun. “Please, Father. Call me Blonko.”</p><hr/><p>“Forgive me Father Tennyson, for I have sinned.” The confessor's voice was familiar, and it took Ben a minute to recognize the man. Unease prickled at the back of his spine when the penitent addressed him by his family’s name, but there were just two Roman Catholic priests in all of Bellwood–Ben and Father Kundo. It wasn’t a stretch for a resident to guess who could be on the other side of the confessional. “It has been seven days since my last confession.”</p><p>"Know that God's grace shines upon us all,” Ben greeted, shifting in his seat. He could feel some of the weight in his shoulders lift, glad that the man from the week prior decided to come back. “Our Father, merciful above all, forgives the lost who returns to His flock.”</p><p>Much like before, the penitent was quiet on the other side, as if contemplating Ben’s words before replying in a light tone, as if terribly amused. “Or so they say.”</p><p>Ben had met his fair share of penitents that were not receptive to showing true Contrition or were nearly hostile to guidance. However, he had not met anyone who treated confession as a joke. He had to push down the annoyance, and asked Him for patience. His fingers twitched for something to hold. Ben opted to fiddle with the pectoral cross over his chest.</p><p>“You asked if lying to yourself is a sin,” Ben reminded, the words passing over his tongue strangely, as if every syllable burned his lips. “Deceit is a fruit of the Devil. To lie, even to yourself, is a sin.”</p><p>“I see,” said the man, but Ben could hear it in his voice that the penitent did not see what Ben was saying at all. “Is it still a sin if my lie is also sin in His eyes?”</p><p>A strange sound carried in the air, like a chorus of a thousand voices barrely muffled by earth, but it was gone as quickly as it came. If Ben strained hard enough, he could hear leaves rustling in the wind.</p><p>“What do you want?” Ben asked, steepling his fingers together. “Forgiveness or absolution?”</p><p>“Neither.” Ben startled, gaping for a minute, mouth uselessly forming words but could not complete them. The man on the other side was far too blithe to be truly repentant, and Ben silently gritted his teeth. His fingers itched for a cigarette, but he couldn’t exactly leave the confessional to smoke. Ben’s breath had gone short and light, and his nails digging on to his palms kept him grounded.</p><p>Another long silence followed, and he was grateful that the confessor remained quiet until Ben had regained control of his breathing.</p><p>“Father, I... there is just one thing I want,” the man began, and any hint of amusement and humor was gone from his voice. There was pain in his voice, a longing that Ben knew all too well. And not just pain - but guilt, too. Born from countless nights of hating one’s self, of desperately trying to pretend. “Is it a sin to love freely?”</p><p>Cold settled in Ben’s gut.</p><p>It was a question Ben had asked himself, of Him, for many many years. He knelt for countless hours before many images, repeating prayer after prayer that Ben wondered if he spoke more Latin than he did any other tongue. Ben’s arms and back ached with remembered pain, learning to write with his left hand because his right wrist was too bruised to move, and his throat pulsed with the burn of a clerical collar too tight around his neck.</p><p>“Did your God not preach that to love thy neighbor as you love thyself?” Ben flinched, the words of the penitent were the very same that he asked himself. They echoed within the wood of the confessional, and Ben wondered if this was one of His tests. Were the years he suffered not enough? “Father, is it a sin to love another man?”</p><p>Ben breathed out, parables and anecdotes and canonized text dying in his tongue, knuckles whithe as he gripped his crucifix. He could have answered what the many seminarians have told him, he could have easily said one of the many platitudes Ben whispered to himself at night that if he said it enough times that it just might come true.</p><p>“I...,” Ben finally said, head bowed, grief and guilt trembling under his ribs. “I don’t have the answers you’re looking for.”</p><p>The candle to his right flickered, the tongue of flame growing bright before an unseen wind extinguished it, leaving Ben in darkness, Smoke flitted out in a thin stream, curling like a lover’s caress in the air before it too was gone.</p><hr/><p>
  <em> “Domine, qui dixisti: Iugum meum suave est, et onus meum leve: fac, ut istud portare sic valeam, quod consequar tuam gratiam. Amen.” </em>
</p><hr/><p>Almost all of Bellwood had gathered outside. Almost all that were a part of the flock, anyway. From his peripheries, he can see Gwen speaking with their <em> seanthair </em>, and both had turned to Ben with welcoming smiles. Ben returned the gesture before turning to the child’s parents and godparents.</p><p>Blon–Rook had an arm around Rayonna’s shoulders, their son swathed in a white baptismal gown in her arms. The child had taken after his father, and Ben knew that the boy would grow up with most of the girls in town wishing he would look at their direction.</p><p>“We are blessed on this joyous day and welcome a new child into God’s arms.” Father Kundo’s voice boomed, and most of the chatter had died down as he greeted the lovely family. Even on a happy occasion, Father Kundo’s brows furrowed into that strict expression, and smiling seemed too great an effort. “What name have you given your son?”</p><p>Amber met green, and the weight of the pectoral cross had never been so heavier as it sat above his chest.</p><p>“Ben,” Rayonna answered, and Ben felt his heart freeze in place. “He is Rook Ben, <em> parrain. </em>”</p><p>“What do you ask of God’s church for Rook Ben?” Ben averted his eyes, trying desperately to keep his breaths even, pushing the cold threatening to leap out of his ribs. He asked for strength in a silent prayer, hoping that the burning in his eyes were from the heat and not because—</p><p>Searing heat pressed between Ben’s shoulders, and he quickly glanced behind him, startled. There were only the closed doors of the church and no one else. Ben brushed it off and turned back to the celebrants, heart beating hard inside his ribs, pushing down the ache, trying not to let his gaze linger.</p><p>“Baptism,” Rook said, his eyes on Ben as he spoke.</p><p>Ben looked away, chest tight, and then forced his lips into a smile. </p><p>Today was supposed to be a joyous occasion.</p><hr/><p>“Father, I have sinned.” Ben’s heart leapt up his throat, the weight of the cross around his shoulders never felt heavier. “It has been seven days since my last confession. Fourteen since my first.”</p><p>"You returned.” Ben tried not to sigh in frustration, the beginnings of a headache already forming behind his eyes. “Why?”</p><p>The man on the other side chuckled, and it sent chills up Ben’s spine. It carried a strange quality, echoing with countless and countless of others, the amusement barely concealing a hunger Ben knew all too well. It was the same hunger that made heat pool low in his gut, that made pain bloom in the ache between his legs, sated on the nights where Ben’s hands would explore himself.</p><p>“Because you want me to. Because you need me to.” Darkness killed the light of the candle and Ben found himself breathing hard, eyes wide as sweat began to form on his forehead. “Tell me, <em> Father </em>, do you think He gazes at me when I touch myself? Do you think He likes to watch when I spill my seed all over my hands? Would He cast me away whenever I fuck myself open with my fingers until I’m gasping and calling His name in the dark of the night?”</p><p>Ben’s hand flew to his mouth, trying to push the panic each breath dragged from his lungs. His nails dug into his palms painfully, his arms straining from the force of his grip. it felt like his heart was trying to crawl out of his ribs, his insides hollowed out and laid bare.</p><p>Ben had not confessed any of these to anyone, not even to the abbot in the seminary or to any of the other brothers with him before he was appointed to Bellwood. Those were only between Ben and God, and yet....</p><p>“Please,” Ben begged. For what, he didn’t know. “How do you even--”</p><p>“There’s a man that I love more than anything else. More than life itself. More than Him.” The voice was soft, yet it was full of promise. "I wish to fuck him as he would fuck me. I want him to know me as a man would his wife."</p><p>Ben buried his face in his hands, silent prayer spilling from his lips, the Latin a familiar mantra.</p><p>"I want him to spread me open with his rough fingers calloused from hours and hours of working in the fields, tilling the soil, harvesting the fruit of his labor. I want him to stretch me wide before he plunges his cock inside me until I start seeing light behind closed eyes." Ben trembled in his seat, icy cold dread seeping into his bones, yet fire had sparked from his chest and left warmth building low in his gut. "I want to his cock whole and drink deep of his seed, taste every drop of sweet nectar from his loins as he pulls my hair to fuck my mouth."</p><p>"Good God," Ben breathed out, his cassock all too heavy and hot, his clerical collar too tight around his neck. “Why me?” </p><p>The man on the other side paused, as if considering his words. It was a cruel kind of silence, the kind that Ben did not wish to have because his heart was carved open and its contents had spilled out in the space in-between.</p><p>“Because you love Rook Blonko more than anyone else.”</p><p>Ben shot up from his seat, whip-quick and in a panic.</p><p>He nearly ripped the confessional doors open, hair plastered to his forehead and nearly tripping on his own boots. Turning on his heel, Ben pulled the confession doors open on the other side, head and heart pounding in and out of sync, his world spinning on its heels.</p><p>There was no one on the other side.</p><p>With trembling fingers, Ben felt for any signs that someone inhabited it before he burst out of the door, nose wrinkling as the smell stench of sulfur and rot permeated the air. He covered his nose with his sleeve, desperately fighting the urge to let bile rise up his throat, bitter-sourness already threatening to climb up his throat.</p><p>Ben stumbled back, turning on his heel as he nearly collapsed on a few, gripping his rosary tight that he was afraid that the beads would snap from the chains. He bowed his head in prayer, <em> Ave Maria </em> tumbling from his tongue in clumsy Latin. The image of Christ on the cross gazed down on him in silence, the red of the painted blood on the polished wood glowed ever so brightly lit by countless melting candles beneath it.</p><p>“A little dramatic, don’t you think?” Shadows blotted out the light flitting from the stained glass windows, the smell of smoke and sulfur thick once more. Sooty feathers fell from the ceiling, and Ben can feel his heart skipping a beat as he gazed at the creature before him. It was swathed in darkness, every feature obscured by writhing shadows.</p><p>Then, light.</p><p>Fire bloomed from its chest, spreading across its torso. Blinding heat filled the church, and Ben had to put his hand over his eyes, the flames grew and grew, eating away every color until there was nothing left but pure white. Searing flames faded away, the acrid smell of smoke filled the air, and Ben waited until it was all gone before he lowered his hand.</p><p>It felt like gazing at a warped reflection, it was his face yet all the colors were wrong.</p><p>The parts that were human were too pale, as if leeched of color. Snow white hair framed crimson horns similar to that of a bull, dark tinted claws served as fingers and toes, tapering off into red scales that barely preserved the creature’s modesty as a dark-pointed tail swung from behind, but what drew Ben’s attention the most were the eyes.</p><p>The irises glowed an ethereal red surrounding thin-slitted pupils, much like a snake’s.</p><p>History lessons sprung into mind, of alchemy and purification, of the <em> Magnum Opus </em>. And there was no denying what was before Ben, that one of his many fears were realized, that an enemy of the Lord had entered holy ground uncontested.</p><p>“Hello Father,” greeted the demon, drifting down lazily, a mockery of His messengers. What was once sacred, now violated. The demon’s inky wings fluttered before folding them behind his back with a flourish. Wicked lips curved into a smile, the hint of sharp teeth waiting underneath. “You may call me… Albedo.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <em> Bellwood, 1924 </em>
</p><p>“We have been called by the Lord to be a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people he acquired for Himself.” The words were rote, familiar, and Ben let them wash over as Father Kundo spoke. He let his eyes linger over the crowd, not really meeting their eyes for even a second too long, or he wouldn’t be able to tear his gaze away from one person and one person only. “Let us ask Him to show his mercy to this child, who is to receive the graces of baptism, to his parents and godparents, and to all the baptized everywhere.”</p><p>The family of three stepped forward close to the font, young Ben began to cry, disturbed from his sleep. His bawls echoed within the vast walls of the church, accompanied by Sister Myaxx’s playing on the organ.</p><p>Plastering a smile, Ben stepped forward, driving all thoughts away as he began the prayer of the faithful.</p><p><em> “Audi nos domine.” </em> The affirmations echoed, contrasted by the young one’s cries. Sorrow into joy.</p><p>Something brushed at the back of Ben’s neck, and he resisted the urge to turn on his back, focused on the Invocation of Saints next. He could feel eyes on his back, and he hoped that the rest of the baptism would go as smoothly as possible. He would rather not have an earful of Father Kundo’s need for perfection.</p><p>It wasn’t that hard to invoke the protection of saints, ending with Bellwood’s patron, Alban. With a calming breath, Ben completed the invocation. “All holy men and women.”</p><p>
  <em> “Pray for us.” </em>
</p><p>His part over, Ben stepped back, heart beating a thousand miles a minute. Rook stood far too close, and Ben could feel amber eyes on him as he kept his head down. He put both hands behind his back, deferring to Father Kundo as the older priest began the Prayer of Exorcism and Anointing Before Baptism.</p><p>Nothing felt real as Father Kundo continued with the sacrament. He was barely aware when the older priest began the anointment and baptismal. The child’s cries and the music and Father Kundo’s voice threatened to drown every thought out. Maybe he should leave, but that would make a scene and they were in the middle of a celebration. It would hurt Rook, and that was the absolute last thing Ben wanted to happen. Maybe returning to Bellwood was a mistake, Ben wouldn’t be here had he been more insistent to go somewhere else, having denied Father Kundo’s request for him., it’s not like he couldn’t write to his family and almost all of the children that came with them left for the cities long before Ben could leave the seminary so it didn’t make sense going back to a place that—</p><p>Metal screeched on the floor.</p><p>Reality came rushing back, and Ben felt like he could breathe again.</p><p>The whole congregation murmured, the music halted and was replaced by the yowl of an aggravated white cat. It stood where the bowl of oil of catechumens was on the table, all of its hairs standing on end.</p><p>Father Kundo gave Ben a pointed look and he took that as his cue to smile sheepishly. He approached the poor thing, and it pulled its ears back. The younger priest offered the tip of his forefinger, and it gave him a sniff before calming down. It had no warning as it jumped to Ben, clinging to his shoulder as it purred. Ben winced because he didn’t want to deal with holes on his sulpice. Thankfully, he couldn’t feel any claws digging on the vestments.</p><p>Silence followed Ben as he headed to the door leading to the atrium, hurrying along, knowing all too well that Father Kundo barely tolerated even a minute of tardiness.</p><p>“How did you even get inside?” Ben asked the cat lightly as he set it down, rubbing the back of its ears as it slithered between his legs affectionately. It was most likely the same cat from earlier. “You have strange eyes.”</p><p>And it did.</p><p>He had seen cats with mismatched eyes—and they were often blue, green, or gray. With the most exotic colors being gold or amber.</p><p>Red eyes stared back.</p><hr/><p>
  <em> Bellwood, 1925 </em>
</p><p>“Congratulations on your first Easter, Father.” The demon had taken residence on Ben’s bed, lying on his stomach, head propped up by claws that served as hands, tail tracing patterns on his wingless back. Albedo smiled lazily at him, red gaze travelling from head to toe. “I can’t wait to take your vestments off.”</p><p>Ben rolled his eyes and brushed his hair back with his hand. “Will it kill you to behave, just this once?”</p><p>Albedo laughed, rolling to lie on his back, grin sharp and full of teeth. “Where would be the fun in that?”</p><p>He glared at the demon, deigning not to reply as they would most likely end up talking in circles. Turning back to his chair, Ben patted the holy vestments and made sure that the cincture was tightened properly before heading towards the door.</p><p>Before he could leave, the familiar shape of claws over his shoulders kept him in place.</p><p>Before Ben could react, Albedo maneuvered the priest to face him before pushing Ben against the door. He opened his mouth to admonish the demon, but warm lips covered his own in a heated kiss.</p><p>Albedo moaned lewdly as Ben proceeded to dominate the kiss as their eyes fluttered shut, breathing hard as Ben’s teeth dug on to his lips and tongue. The priest pulled him closer, their bodies flush together and Ben wished that Albedo chose to do this before he could dress, but it was far too late for that.</p><p>Heat raced down Ben’s body into a warm golden pool, making every sensation electrifying. His vestments seemed to drag everything down, and the only thing propping both of the men up was Ben’s back to the door.</p><p>Grabbing Albedo by the horn with one hand, Ben pulled him away and a trail of drool was the only thing left connecting them together. Albedo’s lips were red and bright, glistening with saliva, his usually slit pupils were round, the red of his irises barely visible as Ben pushed him down to his knees.</p><p>“So forward, Father.” Albedo breathed, voice hazy with lust. “Nervous?”</p><p>“Hardly,” Ben answered with a dry throat, bunching the chasuble and alp up with his free hand, exposing the dark cassock beneath. “I practiced.”</p><p>With one last smile, Albedo parted the cloth and carefully unbuttoned the trousers beneath to free Ben’s cock. He wasn’t fully aroused just yet, but seeing Albedo on his knees was enough to make his cock grow hard at the sight. The demon licked his lips and pressed a soft kiss at the sensitive tip. Fire raced up Ben’s veins and he pulled on the horn until Albedo’s mouth lined up with his shaft. </p><p>“Happy Easter,” said Albedo before swallowing Ben's cock whole.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>translations for prayers, found here: http://www.ibreviary.com/</p><p>Thanks for coming along for the ride! </p><p>there are more to come ofc</p><p>and still waiting for Pope Francis to come to my house so he can kick my ass</p></blockquote></div></div>
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